


Man on the Ground

by Brumeier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: hc_bingo, Community: romancingmcshep, Crime Fighting, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Organized Crime, Prompt Fill, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> Dotcom billionaire Rodney McKay has a crush on good-looking, intelligent John Sheppard who works for a rival company, whom he frequently runs into at parties. What Rodney doesn't know, however, is that John is also a superhero...but the one hero Rodney can't stand. (Rodney can be a superhero too, or not). –Popkin16</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man on the Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [popkin16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/gifts).



> This is for Romancing McShep (late, late, late!) and also fills the Undeserved Reputation square on my hurt/comfort bingo card (also late, late, late and thank goodness for amnesty).

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156598319@N08/35962593011/in/dateposted-public/)

* * *

_Expect traffic delays in midtown this morning as firefighters put out several parked vehicles that caught on fire. The affected area covers a two block stretch from Augustus Avenue to Peterson. Sources report that the fires are the result of Pegasus City’s newest resident, the mysterious vigilante who’s been leaving lawbreakers on the doorstep of the police department for the past two weeks. Details are sketchy, and the cause of the fires is still unknown at this time._

_In financial news, the proposed sale of KS International has fallen through in the wake of John Sheppard’s return to the family business. Insiders say that he’s cleaning house and making plans to streamline the billion-dollar company formerly headed by his father, the late Patrick Sheppard. Many are questioning the strategy, citing Sheppard’s inexperience with corporate structure and finance. He was previously employed as a math instructor at the Atlantis School for Gifted Children in Emerson. The car-bombing deaths of Patrick Sheppard and his younger son, David, remain unsolved._

_And now to Kip Bronley for sports. Kip?_

*o*o*o*

“This is a goddamn mess!” Rodney glared at his tablet. He was in the back of his limo stuck in traffic when he needed to be in a meeting downtown, and it was because that psycho vigilante had struck again.

 _We can video conference you in, Dr. McKay_ , Henry Wardheim said via the Skype connection.

“I have a presentation, which I’m not equipped to –”

_Then we’ll proceed without you, and you can give your presentation when you arrive._

“No, that’s not –”

_We’ll see you soon._

“Asshole!” Rodney snapped after the call was disconnected. Wardheim was going to try and push him out of the program, that arrogant bastard. “Andrew! Can’t you get this thing moving?”

“They’re towing the cars off the street now, Dr. McKay,” Andrew said from the driver’s seat. “I’d guess fifteen more minutes and then we can get underway.”

“Fifteen minutes. Do you know how Wardheim could slander me in fifteen minutes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

It would probably be quicker just to walk. Rodney’s specs for the new propulsion system beat out anything anyone else was doing, in terms of efficiency and modified fuel consumption, but it wouldn’t mean anything if he couldn’t make his presentation. He had props and everything.

“The police need to catch this guy,” he complained to Andrew. “I pay taxes for law enforcement, which has always been more than adequate. Surely they can’t be happy having some amateur running around playing at being a cop.”

“He’s caught a fair share of criminals, Sir.”

“And done thousands of dollars’ worth of damage to public and private property. Don’t go taking his side, Andrew. Remember who signs your paychecks.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Rodney sighed and went back to his tablet. May as well utilize his unexpected down time to make sure he knew exactly what he was going to say during his presentation. He wasn’t letting Wardheim or the other members of the committee out of that meeting without having his say.

*o*o*o*

_Police Commissioner Caldwell issued a statement today at City Hall, censuring the actions of the Pegasus City vigilante. “It is not appropriate for civilians to take the law into their own hands. Our officers are highly trained in all aspects of criminal apprehension, including obeying the letter of the law.”_

_When asked if officers would be actively looking for the vigilante, Caldwell had this to say: “I’ve upped patrols, and all of our officers – beat cops and detectives alike – have been instructed to keep an eye out for this individual. As we saw with the vehicle fires earlier in the week, this person is a danger to public safety and needs to be taken off the streets.”_

_Witness reports say that the vigilante wears a leather cap and flight goggles that obscure most of his face, as well as some sort of black flight suit and military-issue boots. A hotline number has been issued, and citizens are encouraged to call in with any sightings they may have of the vigilante. That number is 800-555-0406._

*o*o*o*

“Stop that,” Jennifer admonished, slapping Rodney’s hand away from the bowtie that was currently strangling him. She adjusted it for him, and then smoothed her hands down the front of his tux. “You look very nice.”

“I look like a waiter.” Rodney hated black tie affairs. 

“No you don’t. Stop grumbling.”

The ivy-covered front of the Sheppard Estate was draped with twinkling white lights, and the open front door let out the sounds of the string quartet playing inside. It was all very elegant and tasteful, but for Rodney there was an underlying sense of the macabre. No-one had been to the estate since the death of Patrick Sheppard and the gossip-mongers were frothing at the mouth to see how the eldest son was settling in and what changes he may have made to the family home.

“This is beautiful,” Jennifer murmured.

The foyer was expansive, highlighting a curving staircase and several large portraits of Sheppard men from yesteryear. There were several sofas around the perimeter of the space, which was filled with arriving guests and several young women who were collecting coats and hats. Open double doors led further into the house.

“Ostentatious,” Rodney replied. He much preferred his penthouse apartment, which was close to work and afforded him great city views from almost every room.

“Behave yourself. I want to have a nice evening.”

“May I remind you that we aren’t dating anymore? You don’t get to boss me around.”

Jennifer gave Rodney a narrow-eyed look and he scowled in return because, yes, she could still boss him around. He reminded himself that he was lucky she agreed to accompany him as his plus one.

“Dr. McKay, thank you so much for coming.” Diana Sheppard was still wearing black, albeit a tasteful pantsuit, and every piece of her jewelry glittered with diamonds. She shook Rodney’s hand, and then Jennifer’s. “Dr. Keller, I was just reading about the surgery you performed on Congressman Miles’ daughter. It’s amazing, what you do.”

Jennifer blushed prettily at the compliment, which had nostalgia nudging at Rodney. They’d had a lot of problems in their relationship but she was honestly a good person, humble and kind, and sometimes he missed being with her in a more-than-friends capacity.

“I know you’ve heard this a hundred times, Mrs. Sheppard, but I’m so sorry for your loss.” Jennifer was completely sincere despite the overused platitude, which was a skill that she wielded well. Rodney had never mastered it himself.

“You’re very kind.” Diana made a quick scan of the room. “I’d love to introduce you to my brother-in-law but he keeps disappearing.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Rodney said. “Are those stuffed mushrooms?”

He grabbed a napkin and piled a handful of mushrooms on it. He popped one in his mouth and made an appreciative noise. “Caggiano Catering, right? Excellent.”

Rodney belatedly realized that he’d left his date on her own, but when he looked for Jennifer he found her chatting with Carson Beckett, the brains behind Genutech. Rodney left them to it; he had nothing to offer in a discussion of human biology. Besides, the scent of cooked meat was wafting through the nearest doorway.

The dining room table, which was long enough to comfortably seat eight, was laden with a variety of delicious-looking comestibles, mostly finger foods and smaller sized portions meant to be easily carried around. Rodney made directly for the carving station.

“Good choice,” a voice drawled in his ear.

“You ever hear of a thing called personal space?” Rodney turned to look at the man who’d invaded his, and any further complaints caught in his throat. “Huh. You’re taller in person.”

John Sheppard was easily identifiable, thanks to the interminable news coverage that tracked his every move since his return. He was much better looking in person: tall and lean and almost devastating in a tuxedo. His unruly hair, which stuck up in irregular spikey tufts, somehow made him look rakish rather than ridiculous.

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. McKay.” Sheppard held out his hand, some sort of black wrist band peeking out from his shirt cuff. “You run Green Earth Innovations, is that right? The bio fuel company?”

Rodney was a firm believer that a person’s handshake reflected their character. Sheppard’s said he was confident – he maintained eye contact – and capable. His slender fingers were calloused, which was a bit of a surprise. Clearly he did more than sign contracts and take meetings.

“We’re more than just bio fuel, but yes.” What Sheppard might not know was that Green Earth was KS International’s top competitor in domestic contracts, and the leader in the installation of hydroelectric dams and turbine farms. Sheppard’s company had more military contracts, but that was an area Rodney stayed away from. He wasn’t interested in making weapons.

“Right. I’m glad you could come. To the party, I mean.”

“And miss the catering?” Rodney was suddenly aware that his hand was still in Sheppard’s, which was much too long for a socially acceptable handshake. “Um…”

Sheppard seemed to realize his faux pas at the same time and hastily released Rodney’s hand, a flush moving up his neck. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Diana Sheppard was there with a sunny smile.

“There you are, Johnny!” She tucked her arm through Sheppard’s. “And you met Dr. McKay.”

“Pays to know the competition,” Sheppard said, one eyebrow raised.

“Play nice,” Diana admonished. “He made a very generous donation to the Fresh Air Fund in Dad’s name.”

“That so?” Sheppard’s eyes narrowed and Rodney was suddenly under a laser focus that was so intense he could almost feel it. There was an accusation captured in that gaze and Rodney bristled to see it. He was saved from saying something regrettable by Jennifer.

“How did I know you’d find the food?” The words were accompanied by a tinkling giggle, but Rodney heard the unspoken criticism. Jennifer was always concerned about his weight and eating habits. Sure, he was a little soft around the middle, but he went to the corporate gym semi-regularly. 

Diana introduced Sheppard to Jennifer. He let go of her hand almost instantly and Rodney fought to keep the smugness off his face.

“How are you settling in?” Jennifer asked.

“I have a lot to learn,” Sheppard replied with a shrug.

“Oh, don’t be so modest.” Diana leaned towards Jennifer, as if speaking conspiratorially. “He’s been a godsend. The girls absolutely adore him, and he saved the company. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Sheppard looked uncomfortable with the praise, and if he was anyone else Rodney might think there was something hinky going on between the widow and her brother-in-law. John Sheppard, though, was out and proud, a fact that had the social columns all abuzz whenever he was seen out with a male companion. 

“That’s wonderful,” Jennifer said. She was all smiles and just looking at her made Rodney’s face hurt. How did she manage to keep that up without cracking?

“Oh, there’s Judge Harvaugh. Will you excuse us?” Diana tugged Sheppard away.

“He seems nice.”

“Based on a five minute conversation with his sister-in-law?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Can I eat now? My hypoglycemia –”

“Is nothing to worry about,” Jennifer said firmly. “You know that’s not as serious as you make it out to be.”

More often than not it was Jennifer herself who reminded Rodney how glad he was that they weren’t in a relationship anymore.

An hour later Rodney was beyond ready to call it a night. He hated the glad-handing, and no-one would ever accuse him of being skilled at small talk. Jennifer, on the other hand, seemed to be having a high time. She was dancing, making the rounds, and getting cozy with Beckett.

When Rodney was finally able to break away from people wanting funding, donations and jobs for their sister’s shiftless nephew, he found himself wandering beyond the confines of the party. He didn’t know how much had changed in the house since Patrick’s death, but now that he’d met John he could see that there were glaring absences. There were pictures everywhere – on shelves, tabletops, and artfully arranged on the walls. And there wasn’t a single photo of John anywhere, not even as a child. In the study he found a huge portrait over the fireplace of the whole family in fancy dress. Everyone but John.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

There was the man himself, leaning against the door jamb that separated the study from the balcony. He had a glass of Scotch in one hand and he was missing his bowtie. He looked good enough to eat.

“Neither are you. This is your coming out party, shouldn’t you be schmoozing?” Rodney plopped himself down in one of the leather wing chairs by the fireplace, happy to be off his feet.

“Yeah. I’m not big on that.” Sheppard nodded his head at the portrait. “One big happy family.”

“My parents were shitty too,” Rodney said. Perhaps he’d had too much to drink, if he was sharing personal information. And with the enemy, so to speak. He found he didn’t particularly care. “We both turned out okay.”

Sheppard snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

“No, really. Look at us.” Rodney waved his hand. “Heading up billion-dollar companies, making the world a better place. Well, I am anyway. Your father seemed more interested in blowing it up.”

“You don’t sugarcoat things, do you?”

“To know me is to hate me,” Rodney said flippantly. “Ask anyone. I’m a real prick.”

Sheppard knocked back the rest of his drink, and licked his lips in a very distracting manner. “I think it’s refreshing. Most people try to kiss my ass.”

He might’ve been buzzed, but not enough to say the first thing that came to his mind. _I bet it’s an ass worth kissing_.

“You know they haven’t found out who killed them.” Sheppard was looking at the portrait. “Or even why. He was a jerk, but he was family.”

Rodney didn’t know Sheppard well enough to be sure, but the man sounded pretty rough. He tried to imagine how it felt, losing someone who’d never been part of your life in any significant way. His own parents had been smothering and pushy and domineering, and all he’d felt when they died was relief.

“Do the cops have any leads?”

“Nothing they want to share.” Sheppard finally stepped into the room. He set his empty glass on the mantle and slid his hands in his pockets. “I’m making some inquiries.”

Rodney nodded. “Makes sense. You have better connections than the cops do, and an in with the people your father regularly dealt with.”

Sheppard dropped into the chair beside Rodney’s. “You think it was related to the business.”

“Of course it is, any idiot – including that blowhard of a police commissioner – can see that. It certainly wasn’t a random terrorist attack.” There’d been a lot of theories tossed around after the bombing had rocked the city, most of them crap as far as Rodney was concerned.

Sheppard gave him an appraising look. “You think it was a business rival?”

“Maybe. Seems pretty extreme. There’s easier ways of killing someone.” It wasn’t as if Rodney hadn’t given the topic some thought. Anyone in their right mind would’ve, because why should they assume it was a one-time thing? What if Patrick wasn’t the only one in the bull’s eye? It was possible that another high-profile businessman would be targeted, which was why Rodney had taken precautions and upgraded his security.

“I think –” Sheppard started to say, leaning over the arm of his chair, when he was rudely interrupted.

“Well, doesn’t this look cozy?”

Rodney’s lips curled up in a grimace. “Kavanagh. How many palms did you have to grease to get through the door?”

“You know each other?” Sheppard looked merely curious but Rodney could see how tense he became, like a coiled spring.

“John Sheppard, Peter Kavanagh. Kavanagh is a slimy, scum-sucking bottom feeder. He’s a so-called journalist for _The Daily Chronicle_ , which is a third-rate paper at best.”

“That’s not what the public opinion polls say,” Kavanagh replied. “I’m surprised to see two corporate rivals in such an…intimate setting. Is there a merger in the works?”

“If there were, you’d be the last to know,” Rodney said with a scowl. “Don’t tell him anything, Sheppard. He’ll twist up whatever you say and make you sound like an idiot.”

“You do that all on your own, McKay. Frankly I’m surprised no-one’s blown _you_ up yet.”

Sheppard surged to his feet, such a fierce look on his face that for a moment Rodney was just the tiniest bit afraid. Luckily it was aimed at Kavanagh, who didn’t have the good sense to worry about self-preservation.

“You leave on your own, or you leave with assistance. It’s up to you.”

And wasn’t that an unexpected turn-on. Rodney wondered if he had some previously untapped pool of desire for manly displays of aggression, or if it was specific to Sheppard’s spiky-haired ferocity.

“You can’t keep the press out.” Kavanagh visibly set his feet, proving he was an even bigger moron than Rodney had suspected.

“I invited the press,” Sheppard replied, his tone sharp. “I didn’t invite _you_.”

His security detail was to be commended. Two men in black suits entered the room and without any discussion at all they each took hold of one of Kavanagh’s arms and carried him bodily from the room. There was no doubt that whoever had snuck the bastard in would be likewise dealt with.

“You’ll be sorry you didn’t talk to me!” Kavanagh shouted as he made his ignominious exit.

“He’s going to crucify you in his column,” Rodney said sympathetically. “Believe me, I’ve been there.”

“I couldn’t give a shit about that.” Sheppard was still agitated, but he turned a warm grin on Rodney. “I don’t suppose…I mean, I know you’re with Dr. Keller, but –”

“Friends!” Rodney blurted out, and then flushed at his own eagerness. “We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” Sheppard looked pleased. “You maybe want to get some lunch tomorrow? If your schedule is free, of course.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Rodney said. He mentally rearranged his meetings for the following day and made a note to tell his assistant.

Sheppard and Rodney exchanged numbers and then parted ways, John to return to the party and Rodney to collect his wayward date and head home.

*o*o*o*

_Pegasus City is abuzz today after another sighting of the vigilante, this time caught on amateur video. Blogger Lee Silver, who was the first to post the video to his blog Pegasus Streetside dot com, has dubbed the mystery man Flyboy. He was captured in the act of saving an unidentified young woman who had jumped from the roof of her apartment building. Flyboy flew up from the sidewalk, caught the girl, and delivered her safely back to the bystanders outside her building. Attempts to detain Flyboy failed._

_Authorities refuse to discuss the matter but one thing is clear: Pegasus City has its very own superhero._

_The Sentinel and The Daily Chronicle, as well as local TV network WATL, are offering cash rewards to anyone who can produce viable footage or photographs of Flyboy in action._

*o*o*o*

“People are talking.” Radek Zelenka, the head of Green Earth’s R&D lab, was working with Rodney on the propulsion system. They often worked in tandem, had developed an almost instant working connection from the moment Rodney had hired him – two days after his bio fuel formula became international news.

“People always talk. But I don’t listen, so it all works out.” Rodney double- checked his algorithm, code streaming across the monitor. “Did you see the –”

“I accounted for the added pressure. And I only suggest that you maybe stop having your picture taken with the enemy.” 

“It’s not like I’m out there courting the paparazzi, you know. Sheppard and I just show up at the same functions, that’s all.”

“Yet you always seem to be so cozy. Do you see, in the eighteenth line –”

“I’ve got it. What gets me is that everyone is so concerned with our so-called rivalry, and where’s all the press on this Flyboy? Which I don’t have to tell you is a singularly ridiculous and unimaginative name. Why isn’t anyone wondering how it is he seems to fly around?” There’d been some video, taken with a cell phone, which Rodney had reviewed, looking for tell-tale signs of a device that would facilitate flight. He hadn’t found anything.

“Eldridge is making advances in personal rocket boosters,” Radek said.

“Nothing so compact that it couldn’t be seen,” Rodney countered. “There’s nothing in the footage that indicates…can you –”

“On it.” Radek tapped at his keyboard. “So if not a jet pack, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. No-one’s working on anti-gravity devices.”

“None that they are telling _you_ about.”

Rodney sniffed at that. As if he needed someone to tell him anything, he had plenty of other ways to find out information. “Just as likely he’s got trained pigeons flying him around.”

“That would require many pigeons. Maybe he can just fly?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. The readings on this look good, don’t you think?”

Radek threw a paperclip at Rodney. “You are very close-minded for a scientist. What about reports of genetic mutations?”

“This is real life, not a comic book. Have you lost IQ points since I hired you?”

“Have _you_? Forget about this hero business, you need to clear things up between you and this John Sheppard. People are talking.”

“You’re repeating yourself.” Rodney’s phone beeped. “Oh. Uh…I have to go.”

“Go? Now? In the middle of this?” Radek gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Where are you going, Rodney?”

“I have a business lunch. If anything happens –”

“I know how to reach you. Go, have your business lunch.” Radek waved him off. “If that’s what they’re calling it these days.”

“Ha. You’re a laugh riot. I’ll be back in about an hour.” Rodney swept out of the lab, leaving Radek muttering in Czech behind him.

*o*o*o*

_Notorious mobster Orville Hopper was brought in for questioning by the police yesterday, following a successful raid on one of Hopper’s clubs over the weekend. He was questioned for two hours and released without being charged._

_According to insiders, Wraith, the club owned by Hopper on West 5th Street, was raided by police thanks to an anonymous tip. They discovered a cache of drugs and guns in the office of club manager Acastus Kolya, who was arrested and is being held pending arraignment on several charges._

_When asked if the anonymous tip came from Flyboy, Police Commissioner Caldwell had this to say: “The discovery of illegal narcotics and unregistered firearms at Wraith had nothing to do with the vigilante. No amount of dazzling special effects can replace solid police work.”_

_Public sentiment appears to be divided. Sidewalk vendors are turning a healthy profit selling merchandize bearing Flyboy’s name and images taken from the video, but there are also those who feel that the vigilante is a public menace. Says one man, “He’s unnatural. Man wasn’t meant to fly like birds do. I see him and he’ll find himself on the business end of my rifle.”_

_Citizens are reminded not to take the law into their own hands. If you spot Flyboy you are to immediately contact the police._

_In other news, John Sheppard, CEO of KS International, was the victim of an attempted mugging just outside the Blue Moon Café last night. Details are sketchy but Sheppard reportedly disarmed the mugger and then proceeded to chase him on foot. Shortly after police arrived on the scene Sheppard returned with the mugger in tow and handed him over to the authorities. It seems that Pegasus City has more than one hero safeguarding its streets._

*o*o*o*

Rodney didn’t need to hear about the mugging on the news. He’d been there. Somehow Sheppard had kept his name out of the reports, for which he was grateful. There was quite enough unfounded speculation about the two of them.

He and Sheppard had just finished a late dinner, a semi-regular occurrence. The mugger had come out of nowhere, brandishing a pistol and demanding their wallets. Pretty standard stuff but Rodney had flatly refused.

“Get a job and earn your own damn money!” he’d snapped. “You’re not getting a dollar of mine!”

Sheppard had hissed at him to shut up, to stop provoking the guy, but in the end he’d been the one to take action. Sheppard had pulled some fancy action film move, had snatched the gun right out of the guy’s hand and then proceeded to chase him down an alley and up over a fence like he had wings on his feet.

Despite his stubborn and ill-advised bravado – no doubt inspired by a need to appear more masculine in front of Sheppard – Rodney had been terrified. He wasn’t accustomed to having guns waved in his face, and having his life threatened. That was the reason he was down in the labs pestering Laura Cadman.

“Rodney, I can’t concentrate with you hanging over my shoulder.”

“Are you sure this’ll work? I don’t want to get electrocuted.”

Laura glowered at Rodney through her safety glasses. “Will you back off already? I know what I’m doing!”

Rodney held up his hands in supplication. It was never good to get on Laura’s bad side. There were a lot of smart people employed by Green Earth, and most of them found Rodney very intimidating. Laura wasn’t one of them. She was a former Marine with a penchant for explosives and electronics, and was working on a special project that Rodney had just moved to the top of the priority list.

“Okay, fine. Don’t blow a gasket. But I’m the one that’s going to be wearing this thing and it’ll defeat the whole purpose if it kills me.”

“Because of course I wouldn’t rigorously test it first.” Laura waved her soldering gun at him. “Go away.”

Rodney made a show of checking his watch. “Lucky for you I have a meeting. I want a full update by the end of the day.”

Truth was he didn’t really have anywhere he needed to be. Radek was on top of the propulsion system, Laura was immersed in her project, and Sheppard was tied up all day. There were plenty of things he could’ve done, but Rodney found himself in his office reviewing the Flyboy footage for the umpteenth time.

It was a puzzle, and Rodney could never resist a good puzzle. He’d created algorithms and run simulations to try and figure out how it was that Flyboy could fly. So far he’d been unable to figure it out, and he was forced to face the fact that his brand of science didn’t hold the answer.

_Genutech, how may I direct your call?_

It took several minutes, and one misdirected connection, before Carson Beckett finally answered the phone.

“Beckett, finally. This is Rodney McKay from Green Earth.”

_Ah. Of course. To what do I owe the honor of this call?_

“Biology isn’t my strong suit, obviously, but you seem well-versed in all that genetic voodoo. How is it that a man can fly without any mechanical assistance? Are we talking some sort of gene mutation here?”

 _No offense taken_ , Beckett said dryly. _I assume you’re asking about our fair city’s newest celebrity?_

“If by celebrity you mean menace, then yes. Is there some sort of genetic component that would account for that?” Rodney doodled on the notepad next to the phone, swirls and swoops. “That’s what you do there, right? Monkey around with genetic coding?”

_Again, no offense taken. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t given it some thought myself. Truth is, there’s still so much about human genetic code we don’t know._

That sounded like a load of crap to Rodney, though he managed to refrain from saying so. “Then tell me what you _do_ know.”

Beckett sighed. _What I know is that without gene mutation there’d be no evolution._

“So you think this Flyboy is the next step for humans? Flying, x-ray vision, that sort of thing?”

_I don’t know that I’d go quite that far. Did you know there are gene mutations that increase muscle mass, or decrease the need for a full night’s sleep? Whenever the human genome duplicates itself there can be upwards of a hundred or more mutations that manifest. Most don’t have noticeable effects, but sometimes…sometimes something extraordinary can happen._

Rodney mulled that over. Was it possible that one little genetic change was responsible for giving a man the gift of flight? “You’re saying it’s possible.”

_I’m saying I wouldn’t rule it out. The human body is capable of incredible things. But unless this man comes in for testing there’s no way for me to say unequivocally that a gene mutation is at work._

“That’s the problem with the soft sciences,” Rodney groused. “It’s all just so much supposition. I need hard facts.”

_Aye, well, be that as it may. If there’s nothing else I can help you with, Dr. McKay, I should really get back to…what did you call it? Monkeying around?_

“Oh, right.” Rodney disconnected the call and turned to his computer.

For half an hour he scoured the web for information on genetic mutations in humans. He learned about a little boy from Michigan whose body didn’t produce myostatin, giving him incredible strength, and a man in India who could conduct electricity through his body without suffering any ill effects. He read about super rare “rh null” blood, and Marfan syndrome. What he couldn’t find was anyone who demonstrated the same disregard for gravity as Flyboy.

It was a puzzle, and Rodney was determined to solve it.

*o*o*o*

_More trouble this week for mobster Orville Hopper. Flyboy delivered Hopper’s second-in-command, Marcus D’Angelo, to the police, along with evidence implicating him in several unsolved homicides in and around Pegasus City._

_Police Commissioner Caldwell sat in on an interview between Hopper and the FBI, which Hopper once again walked away from without being charged. An inside source with the police department has suggested that Hopper’s connections are extensive and well-placed, making him virtually untouchable._

_Commissioner Caldwell declined to comment on Flyboy’s continued assistance with police matters, or their repeated failure at detaining the person rapidly becoming Pegasus City’s favorite son._

_In society news, speculation is running rampant regarding a possible romantic relationship between corporate giants John Sheppard and Dr. Rodney McKay. The two CEOs have been seen out and about nearly every night this past week, most recently at last night’s Philharmonic performance of Holst’s The Planets where they shared a box with Sheppard’s niece Erin and Dr. Jennifer Keller. Neither man has been caught in any public displays of affection but as long as they continue to spend so much of their free time together tongues are going to wag._

*o*o*o*

The annual benefit dinner for the MRM Institute of Excellence, which Rodney had founded to help steer gifted children into science and technology fields, was underway at Paterno’s, a high-scale Italian restaurant that Green Earth Innovations had bought out for the night. Rodney had very little to do with the actual arrangements – he had staff for that – but he made sure that Sheppard got a personal invitation.

Rodney had seen very little of his new friend in the past week, and it left him feeling vaguely unsettled. Sheppard hadn’t been out with anyone else, at least not anyone worthy of society news, but he hadn’t been able to make the last three lunches that Rodney had tried to set up with him. Normally he’d take that as a rejection and move on, ego only slightly bruised, but this time it was different. Sheppard was different. Rodney didn’t want to lose the friendship they’d been developing, or the possibility that maybe it could turn into something more.

He was therefore extremely pleased to see Sheppard come through the front door of the restaurant, looking particularly sharp in a black on black suit. More importantly, he wasn’t accompanied by anyone.

“Glad you could make it,” Rodney said. He tried to keep from seeming overly happy about it. No sense coming across like some love-struck teenager.

“Yeah. Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

Rodney didn’t bother to comment on that. Sheppard was sporting a bruise along one cheekbone, so whatever he’d been getting up to was a bit more physical than the average board meeting tended to be. Maybe he did martial arts training or something in his spare time. Or fight club.

“Well, I appreciate you coming.” Rodney steered him towards the main table, where he’d reserved a seat for Sheppard right beside his own. He knew that would only get tongues wagging again.

“Good cause, right? My niece Erin already has an application filled out, even though she has two years before she can apply.”

“I’m on the enrollment committee. Have her send it in now, to my attention. I’ll make sure to reserve her a spot.”

Sheppard looked at him in surprise. “Really? She’d love that!”

Rodney shrugged like it was no big deal. Truth was that people often came to him asking to get this or that kid into the Institute as a special favor, but he’d mostly ignored those requests. For Sheppard, though, he do almost anything. It was a little annoying really, the hold the other man had over him after such a short amount of time.

“Well…she seems like a smart kid.”

“She is. Top of her class, and surpassing a lot of the teachers now.”

“That’s exactly the kind of student we’re looking for,” Rodney said, and that at least was the absolute truth. “There’s an open bar if you want something. No, wait, let me guess. Beer?”

Sheppard sat down, grinning. “You know me so well.”

And that was a complete falsehood. There was so much Rodney didn’t know about Sheppard, things he was actually a little surprised to find that he _did_ want to know. He’d checked public records, of course, and did a bit more digging into computer systems that he technically wasn’t supposed to have access to, but the overall picture was very hazy. The Atlantis School’s system was completely impenetrable, which had frustrated Rodney for hours. He couldn’t help feel that the heart of who Sheppard was could be found there, at the school he’d attended since he was sixteen and then returned to as an instructor.

Rodney got himself a glass of red wine and a bottle of beer for Sheppard, and made his way back to the table. There were about sixty people milling around, enjoying drinks and hors d’oeuvres. In a few minutes he’d have to give a little speech, and then dinner would be served. The only thing he was interested in was spending more time with Sheppard.

“Thanks.” Sheppard tipped the bottle at Rodney in a kind of salute and took a large swallow. “So I assume the food here is good.”

“Would I be here otherwise?” Rodney countered. “So…what happened to your face?”

“I was born this way,” was the flippant response. Rodney rolled his eyes.

“Hilarious. Seriously, are you part of a fight club or something? I’ve heard there’s one in the city somewhere.” 

“You know the first rule of fight club, McKay.”

“Fine. Be evasive.” Rodney didn’t have time to press him further because he was about to be introduced for his speech.

There was a smattering of applause as Rodney took his place behind the podium. “Yes, yes. Enough of that. Thank you all for coming out to support superior education for the exceptional children of Pegasus City. As some of you may know, growing up I had no support from my parents and almost none from my school system. My genius may have gone unrecognized if I hadn’t pushed for advanced courses and early college placement. I founded the MRM Institute to fill an educational gap for the children of this city who excel in their studies and need more than our local schools can provide.”

It wasn’t a popular opinion, especially amongst public school supporters. But it was the truth. Rodney glanced over at Sheppard, who was watching him intently, and felt momentarily flustered.

“So…um. Oh! We’ve had several success stories, graduates from the Institute that have gone on to top-rated universities and rewarding careers in math, science, and engineering. We have one such graduate with us today. Ryan Emery, currently a senior at MIT, will say a few words about his experience at MRM Institute. And then we can eat. Come on up, Ryan.”

Rodney was more than happy to switch places with the young man. He sat down next to Sheppard while Ryan sang the praises of the Institute and how it was helping him get a degree in forensic chemistry.

“Nice speech,” Sheppard murmured in his ear. “Very inspiring.”

“Shut up,” Rodney whispered back.

Ryan wrapped up to much applause, and then a crew of waiters and waitresses starting delivering plates of salad. Not a moment too soon, because Rodney was starving. He was confident that the Institute would raise a lot of money tonight, particularly after the kid’s earnest praise of the program.

“How do I contribute?” Sheppard asked.

“You’ll be able to make a donation after dinner. Don’t be skimpy. I know your company can afford a lot.” Rodney was only partially joking, but Sheppard nodded solemnly. 

“Can do.”

The dinner passed quickly. Most of the discussion at Rodney’s table was aimed at Sheppard and how he felt about running KS International. For once Rodney didn’t mind not being the focus of everyone’s attention. He was enjoying Sheppard’s skillful ability to deflect the questions he didn’t want to answer.

And every once in a while Sheppard would bump his knee against Rodney’s, and shoot him a smirky grin. If Rodney had still been a gawky teenager he’d probably have blushed. As it was, he was having a hard time keeping his own dopey smile off his face.

"This was fun,” Sheppard said as they collected their overcoats.

“No it wasn’t.”

“Way to talk up your own benefit, Rodney.”

“Why should I bother now?” Rodney pointed out. “Everyone’s already here and ready to write a check.”

“Nice attitude.” But Sheppard was grinning as he said it.

Andrew appeared, waiting patiently until Rodney waved him over.

“There’s a problem with the car, Sir.”

“Red level?” Rodney had some sophisticated technology integrated with the car’s operating system, which could detect any tampering. No-one was blowing _him_ up.

“No, Sir. It’s a strictly mechanical problem.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful. Call Rodrigo, see if he can come down and take a look. I’ll take a cab.” Rodney hated public transportation, which was unfailingly dirty and populated by individuals he’d never otherwise have to interact with.

“I can drop you home,” Sheppard offered. “It’s no problem.”

Just three little words, but there was a tone that spoke of possibilities in the darkened backseat. Rodney was enjoying their friendship but he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to get physical with Sheppard, see him out of his clothes. A spike of lust shot through him and he hastily buttoned his coat.

They walked out together and Sheppard pointed him in the direction of his car, one of several that were idling at the curb. There was a very subtle KSI decal on the side window. “That’s us.”

Sheppard’s driver didn’t get out to open the door, which was either pretty poor training or else the sign of someone who would soon be looking for new employment. Although having Sheppard open the door for him was actually kind of…sweet.

“Oh!” Sheppard turned back toward Paterno’s. “Forgot my check.”

“You can do it another time. It’s not like there’s a deadline for it.” Rodney wanted to get in and see if maybe something would happen. He didn’t care about the damn check.

“I’ll just be a second,” Sheppard assured him. “Keep my seat warm.”

Rodney rolled his eyes and got in. A moment later the door shut behind him, and it was about damn time the driver started doing his job. But then the car lurched forward, without Sheppard, which reaffirmed Rodney’s earlier opinion that John’s employee was an imbecile.

“Hey!” Rodney knocked on the glass partition. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t you know who I am?”

The partition slid down, revealing a female driver with orange-red hair and a long-haired albino thug with a scar alongside his nose.

“I know exactly who you are, John Sheppard,” the guy said. And he sprayed something in Rodney’s face that was exceedingly bitter and made his eyes sting.

Rodney tried to explain that he wasn’t in fact John Sheppard but he was too busy choking on the noxious spray. In the next instant he felt extremely light-headed and was unable to keep his eyes open.

“Do not worry,” the albino said. “I will wake you when we get there.”

“Where?” Rodney gasped. And then everything went black as the drugging agent completed its task.

*o*o*o*

_Breaking news. Authorities were called to the scene of a homicide at popular downtown restaurant Paterno’s. The victim has been identified as Gary Manning, chauffer for KS International CEO John Sheppard. Just hours earlier Sheppard had been at Paterno’s for the annual MRM Institute of Excellence benefit. Andrew Harriman, driver for Green Earth Innovations founder and MRM Institute’s Board President Dr. Rodney McKay, reported to police that Sheppard and McKay were set to leave the benefit together due to mechanical issues with McKay’s car._

_Neither Sheppard nor McKay could be reached by police, who have put out an APB on Sheppard’s missing car. Could this be history repeating itself? An informant within the police department says that officers are looking at this as a kidnapping, very probably related to the bombing deaths of Sheppard’s father and brother several months ago._

_Anyone with information is encouraged to call the tip line: 800-500-8890. We will keep you updated as the situation unfolds._

*o*o*o*

Rodney woke slowly, his whole head seemingly stuffed with cotton and his throat painfully dry. There were voices at the edge of his awareness but it took a long moment before he could make any sense of the words.

“…by morons! You had _one_ job and you screwed it up spectacularly.”

Oh. It all came flooding back and Rodney blinked his eyes open. He was tied to a chair, arms pulled painfully behind him, and he’d been divested of his overcoat. He didn’t know how long he’d been there but his hands were mostly numb. If he couldn’t get untied soon there was every chance he’d have lasting damage to his extremities.

“He was dressed formally and he got in Sheppard’s car,” a familiar voice protested. “I followed your instructions.”

“You mean you fucked up my instructions.”

The acoustics indicated that Rodney was being held in a small room, but he couldn’t see anything outside the narrow pool of light that seemed to be spotlighting him.

“I’m not John Sheppard!” Rodney croaked, hoping to bring his abductors into the light.

“He is awake.”

There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then the one who seemed to be in charge said, “No shit. Wait for me downstairs.”

Someone moved along the edge of the light and Rodney saw it was the albino who’d sprayed the knockout drug in his face. They exchanged scowls.

“Dr. McKay. You epitomize the concept of wrong place, wrong time.”

In retrospect, Rodney should’ve known. Orville Hopper had been all over the news lately, his organization under fire from Flyboy and law enforcement both. There’d been speculation in the press about his involvement with the Sheppard deaths, and if that was the case it certainly made sense that John would be a target too. Rodney just didn’t know _why_.

Hopper stepped into the circle of light, resplendent in an electric blue suit and yellow tie. For someone who spent much of his time operating below the radar, he seemed to like drawing attention to himself. Not that he needed the clothes for that – he was tall and solidly built, his salt and pepper hair a mass of curls that he kept tied back in a ponytail, and his bottom lip was pierced through with a curving blue hoop that matched his suit.

“What’s your beef with Sheppard?” Rodney asked. He figured if he could get Hopper talking he had a better chance of working out a means for his own survival.

“I’m not a Bond villain. I’m afraid you’ll have to die not knowing.” 

Rodney held his breath when Hopper reached inside his suit jacket, but he only pulled out a leather cigar case. He clipped the end of a thick stogie and lit it with a wooden match.

“Some people swear by butane, but non-sulfurous wood is the only way to go,” Hopper said conversationally around the cigar as he rotated it. “Ideally it’d be a cedar spill, but sometimes a guy just has to make due.”

He shook out the match and dropped it to the floor. Rodney wrinkled his nose as Hopper took a few puffs, sending a cloud of cigar smoke in Rodney’s direction.

“Is this a public building? Because you know those are primarily smoke-free now.” 

“You’re worried about second-hand smoke?” Hopper asked, eyebrow raised. “I think you have bigger things on your plate right now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to unburden yourself?” Rodney asked, just a little desperately. “I’m a really good listener. Ask anyone.” 

He tugged at his bindings, which sent pain shooting through his shoulders and down his back, but was otherwise a futile exercise. He couldn’t feel his fingers at all now and could only imagine how they must look, swollen and red.

“Sorry about the mix-up,” Hopper said apologetically. Right before he produced a ridiculously large handgun, which he pointed at Rodney.

Rodney couldn’t help it. Under most circumstances he met challenges head-on, never one to shy away from a problem. But looking down the business end of a gun was something else entirely, particularly when he didn’t have the use of his hands – or Sheppard – to save the day. He closed his eyes, hunching into himself as much as he could given the circumstances, and waited for the shot that would end his life.

He missed Flyboy’s dramatic, glass-shattering entrance.

Shots were fired, but not at Rodney. His eyes popped open just in time to see Flyboy, fitted out in his black flight suit, zip through the air and disarm Hopper. This close Rodney could see that man had a shimmering field of some kind clinging to him like a second skin. His landing was a little rough, no doubt because of the bloody gunshot wound high up on his leg.

Even before he spoke, Rodney knew. The idea had been on his mental back burner for a little while now, but seeing Flyboy in the flesh confirmed what he’d suspected. After all, he wasn’t the only new resident of Pegasus City in recent months.

“You all right, Rodney?”

“I applaud your sense of dramatic timing,” Rodney replied. “But don’t you think you cut it a little close?”

“Had to take care of something, sorry.”

Rodney could guess what that _something_ was, based on the lack of henchmen rushing to Hopper’s aid. The mob boss was obviously keyed into that as well, judging by the thunderous look on his face.

“Think you can untie me before my hands turn necrotic?”

“Shit. Is it that bad?” The speed with which Sheppard, who was looking particularly hot in that flight suit, circled around behind Rodney and undid the ropes was incredibly gratifying, despite Hopper quickly taking advantage of their attention being distracted.

As soon as Rodney’s hands were free Hopper yanked him out of the chair and pressed something that felt uncomfortably like a gun barrel to the underside of his chin. Why the hell hadn’t he figured that a criminal of this magnitude would have a backup piece?

“Drop it, or the genius loses his head.”

Sheppard had brought Hopper’s first gun up to bear, but almost immediately dropped it. He could fly, sure, but Rodney had no idea what kind of shot he was and was kind of relieved that his rescuer didn’t try to shoot around him to get Hopper.

“He’s not part of this,” Sheppard said. “Let him go.”

Rodney was in complete agreement with that, though he was unable to vocalize it. Between the gun pressed painfully into his throat and the agonizing pain flooding through his hands as blood flow resumed, he was having a hard enough time just staying present in the conversation.

“Dr. McKay provided a service to me, getting you here. I should’ve grabbed him sooner.”

“Here I am. You don’t need him.”

“Actually, I’ve decided to grant him one last request.” Hopper leaned in, his breath hot against Rodney’s ear. “Didn’t you want to know why I killed Sheppard’s father?”

Sheppard ripped the cap and goggles off his head and threw them aside, revealing his true identity. Fairly anticlimactic, considering Rodney already knew and he suspected Hopper did as well. Sheppard’s face was a mask of anger and pain, and despite his own discomforts Rodney’s heart went out to him. He had his own plan for escape, now that his hands were free, but he waited; the man deserved to know why Hopper had killed his family.

“I’ll kill you,” Sheppard snarled. His hands were clenched into fists.

“Your father was a greedy bastard, John. He had so much, and he wanted more. He wanted a piece of what was _mine_.” 

“That’s not true.”

Sheppard didn’t sound convinced, and he shouldn’t have. Rodney’d had enough dealings with Patrick Sheppard to know that beneath his polished, business-like exterior beat the heart of a power-hungry pirate. He’d tried more than once to buy up Green Earth Innovations.

“Oh, it’s true. We made a deal, your father and I. And he tried to cut me out of it.”

“And my brother?”

“Well, I very well couldn’t get my own man in place if there was another Sheppard to fill Patrick’s shoes.” Hopper’s hand tightened on Rodney’s arm. “I didn’t know the son he threw away would come back. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

The look on Sheppard’s face was too much: too much pain, too much guilt, too much remembered sadness. Rodney didn’t know why Patrick Sheppard had sent his son away all those years ago. It wasn’t his business, and it certainly wasn’t relevant to the current situation. All he knew was that Sheppard…that _John_ …didn’t need to be reminded of it by a murderous asshole.

“We’re done here,” Rodney said. He jerked his head away from the gun, though it wasn’t far enough for comfort.

“The genius is right. We’re done. Say goodbye to your boyfriend, Dr. McKay.” Hopper moved the gun, leveling it at John.

Before John could move, which he was clearly ready to do, Rodney pressed down on the top button of his suit jacket. “Goodbye, Mr. Hopper.”

The air filled with static charge as electricity was released through the very thin copper threads woven into the fabric of Rodney’s jacket. There was a snap of ozone, and the gun discharged as Hopper’s finger convulsively pressed down on the trigger. The bang was incredibly loud, momentarily deafening Rodney.

“John!” he cried, but he couldn’t move. Luckily John had, and just in the nick of time.

Hopper’s clutching hand was like a vice and he was making inarticulate sounds as he shuddered with the electrical charge moving through his body. Rodney could feel it is as well, only just as a kind of low-level tingling up and down his arms and his back. He’d have to remember to talk to Laura about that. The special rubberized lining was supposed to keep him from feeling any of the electricity at all.

“Shut it off!” John shouted.

Rodney fumbled for the button and pressed it again, the triggering mechanism making a little click that he could feel with his thumb. Hopper dropped like a stone and Rodney swayed on his feet. The smell of burnt hair and urine hung in the air, and Rodney was afraid they’d figured out the voltage wrong, that he’d killed Hopper instead of just temporarily disabling him.

“You okay?” John steadied Rodney with a hand on his elbow. “What the hell did you do?”

“Personal security. Is he dead?”

John’s hand tightened momentarily and then he squatted down beside Hopper. Rodney found he couldn’t look. He was a lot of things – asshole, genius, socially inept – but he never thought he’d kill someone.

“He’s dead, isn’t he? Laura assured me the voltage wasn’t too high, that it had just a little more oomph than a Taser. The lining certainly isn’t adequate, I can tell you that. It’ll have to be tweaked.” Rodney was starting to get shaky, probably the result of all the adrenalin. Or the near-death experience. “It’s not suitable for everyone, of course. I’m not even sure what to call it. Electro-Suit? Not catchy enough, but I have people for that.”

“Rodney.”

“I’m sure I’m not the only corporate big-wig that could use an electrified suit jacket. I mean, think how easy it would be to keep the press away at the very least. Maybe I could configure something with an EMP. You know –”

“Rodney!”

He blinked at John, who was standing in front of him again. “What?”

“He’s not dead. Just unconscious.”

“Really?” Rodney sagged in relief. “Can we get out of here please?”

He heard the sound of sirens in the distance, and the tilt to John’s head said he’d heard them as well.

“There’s the reinforcements, right on time. They’re going to need to talk to you. You need to tell them everything Hopper said or else he’ll get another pass.” John looked worried, like Rodney might not want to get involved. Idiot.

“I’ll tell them everything in Technicolor detail,” Rodney promised. “Just…can we not be here right this second?”

He didn’t know how long Hopper would be out and was irrationally afraid that he’d pop back to his feet and come after them with yet another hidden weapon. Plus, he didn’t want to be there when the cops came in guns blazing, just in case they read the situation wrong.

John got a wicked looked in his eye. “Sure. Hang on.”

“Wait, what –” Rodney’s voice cut off in an undignified squawk of surprise when John wrapped him in a hug. And as nice as that was – so unbelievably nice and how much better would that be _naked_ – it was nothing compared to feeling the floor drop away from beneath his feet.

John flew them out the window he’d burst through, Rodney clinging tightly to him even though he knew John wouldn’t drop him. It was strange and scary and such a rush to move through the open air so easily. From his vantage point Rodney could see that shimmery field again, which was now surrounding both of them. Looking through it the urban landscape around them was only slightly wavery. 

They touched down lightly on the roof and just as John started to pull back Rodney leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth. John was a goddamned superhero, he could fly, and in that moment Rodney thought he was the most wonderful person who’d ever existed.

John kissed him back with fervor, hands tight on Rodney’s hips. It would have been perfect if not for the bursts of gunfire coming from below them. Or maybe that just heightened the whole thing, Rodney didn’t know. But he couldn’t keep his curiosity to himself any longer and was already talking even before he’d fully disengaged from the kiss.

“Mmm…how do you do it? It’s a genetic anomaly, right?”

“Rodney,” John said with a chuckle. He pressed one more kiss to Rodney’s lips and then pulled back, though he seemed reluctant to let go.

“That’s what that field is. You can change your own gravity, can’t you?” It was amazing, so much so that Rodney was practically bouncing up and down. “How do you do it?”

John shrugged. “Just woke up one morning and it was there. I was sixteen and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world.”

Sixteen. Something clicked in Rodney’s brain and suddenly he understood a lot more about the estrangement between Patrick Sheppard and his eldest son. He’d sent John away when he was sixteen, to that school upstate. He’d probably been horrified instead of appreciating the amazing gift his son had been given. There was another consideration too.

“The Atlantis school?”

“Let’s just say it has a very unique curriculum,” John said with a smirk.

A million more questions, but Rodney didn’t have any time to ask them. Someone was pounding at the roof access door, either Hopper’s men or the cops. “You better fly out of here before someone sees you. You have to protect your secret identity, right?”

John looked apologetic, and Rodney kissed him again just because he could. “I’ll see you later, Dr. McKay.”

“Later, Flyboy.” 

Rodney watched him lift up off the roof and fly away, stunned not only by the beauty of it but also because somehow, inexplicably, he got to be a part of it. It made the interminable questioning by police and FBI that took up the rest of his night almost bearable.

*o*o*o*

_Our top news story today is the arrest of mobster Orville Hopper following his abduction of John Sheppard and Dr. Rodney McKay. In addition to two charges of kidnapping, Hopper is also being charged with the homicides of Patrick and David Sheppard. Details are still sketchy at this point but it appears that Hopper was attempting a hostile takeover of KS International._

_Police Commissioner Caldwell reluctantly attributed the arrest to the efforts of Pegasus City vigilante Flyboy, who had systematically been helping to disassemble Hopper’s criminal network during the last few months. It was also Flyboy’s intervention that saved the lives of Sheppard and McKay._

_“We are of course thankful to this man for his assistance in bringing down a major criminal element in our city,” Caldwell said during a press conference with Mayor Woolsey and FBI Special Agent In Charge Evan Lorne. “It is my hope that with this personal vendetta out of the way, the vigilante can hang up his cape and leave future crime fighting to trained police officers.”_

_Sheppard hasn’t had much to say, except to thank the officers who came to his rescue. Dr. McKay, on the other hand, has been effusive in his praise of Flyboy. “I was perfectly capable of handling the situation, of course,” McKay told the press gathered outside Green Earth Innovations yesterday. “But Flyboy was very heroic. He risked his life to save mine and I’ll always be grateful for that.”_

_Flyboy’s identity remains a mystery, and there have been no sightings of him since Hopper’s arrest._

*o*o*o*

Rodney stood out on his balcony, warm summer breeze making the leaves on all the brown, dried-out plants on the metal stand rustle. He didn’t know why people insisted on giving him green growing things as gifts. He wasn’t a botanist, and he could never remember to water them. He made a mental note to tell the housekeeper to toss them the next time she was in.

A pair of arms circled around him from behind and Rodney leaned back, unable to stop the pleased sigh that escaped him as he did so. In the last two months he’d gotten used to having Sheppard around, used to affectionate touches and not eating alone and all the exceptional sex.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, resting his hands on Sheppard’s arms. “You have guests.”

“ _We_ have guests,” Sheppard corrected. “They’ve gone back to the estate. Teyla was tired. I think that’s a pregnancy thing.”

It was a sign of his trust in Rodney that Sheppard had invited two of his closest friends from the Atlantis school to spend the weekend with them in the city. Like Sheppard, they each had a super power: Ronon – intimidating enough just with his size and obvious muscle – could harden the outermost layer of his skin into an impenetrable armor, and Teyla was something of a siren in that she could modulate her voice to influence other people into doing what she wanted. Both interesting skills with many practical applications, but Rodney’s favorite super power was still Sheppard’s.

“So it’s just the two of us?”

Rodney turned in Sheppard’s embrace and reached up with one hand to tug at his unruly hair. They kissed, slow and sweet quickly bleeding away to heated and dirty. Maybe Sheppard’s real super power was making Rodney feel like a giddy teenager in the throes of first love.

“I’ve got a few hours to kill,” Sheppard said. He sucked on Rodney’s earlobe. 

Rodney closed his eyes, skin already thrumming with pleasure. “I’m sure we can think of something to fill the time. Hmm. I suppose we could do math puzzles.”

Sheppard slipped a hand down the back of Rodney’s pants and grabbed his ass.

“Or…uh…chess.”

That same hand moved over his hip and cupped his balls through his boxers. Rodney moaned and dropped his head to Sheppard’s shoulder.

“Naked chess?”

“You’ve got that half right,” Sheppard chuckled in his ear. 

Rodney was literally walking on air as his lover tugged him off the balcony and towards the bedroom.

*o*o*o*

_The wedding of the century took place at the newly-christened Sheppard Memorial Park yesterday, with the reception following at the Sheppard Estate. The ceremony was open to the public and thousands lined the streets to get a glimpse of grooms John Sheppard and Rodney McKay as they exchanged vows._

_Now that Sheppard and McKay have joined their lives together, the question on everyone’s lips is whether or not there will now be a merger of Green Earth Innovations and KS International. Insiders for both companies claim that for right now it’s business as usual, with no plans to change operations. And yet there have been several collaborations between both corporate giants in the last year, and KS International has made a definite shift away from the lucrative defense contracts that have been its bread and butter._

_Sheppard and McKay are currently honeymooning in an undisclosed location and aren’t due back for another three weeks. Speaking for myself and this station, we wish the newlyweds all the best._

_In other news, Police Commissioner Caldwell has officially confirmed a reluctant truce between his office and Flyboy. Our resident hero, who had been glaringly absent after the arrest and conviction of mobster Orville Hopper, returned on the scene in recent months. Occasionally seen with a sidekick who’s been dubbed The Rock, Flyboy had a closed-door meeting with Caldwell that lasted well over an hour. No-one knows what to attribute to the Commissioner’s change of heart, but many police officers have expressed their gratitude towards Flyboy for all the help he provides them._

_The future of Pegasus City looks bright indeed._

_And now the weather…_

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Well, this is a month late for [ Romancing McShep ](http://romancingmcshep.livejournal.com/), but here it is! For reasons unknown, this fic fought me almost every step of the way. Add in the sudden death of a laptop and the acquisition of a second job, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever get this finished.
> 
> But finished it is! Thanks to [ Popkin16 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/pseuds/popkin16) for the awesome prompt, and [ Taste_is_Sweet ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet) for the awesome beta job and continued moral support. And thanks to [ WrathChilde](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WrathChilde/pseuds/WrathChilde) for his help with some of the more important plot points.


End file.
